


Halcyon Days

by golden_bastet



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_bastet/pseuds/golden_bastet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William Andrew Philip Bodie - just Bodie to his acquaintances - returns to England after years in Africa. Barely functioning, weary of seeing and doing things that no one should see or do, he finds refuge in the darkness of an apartment for rent in a run-down section of London.</p><p>Raymond Doyle, a policeman with a promising career and a promising relationship, decides to nudge his future forward by looking for an apartment to share. In a corner, in the dark, he finds a stranger hiding in the shadows. At first, it seems that the man might be in need of social services; but it soon becomes clear that he is looking for much, much more.</p><p>In that bare room, they strip: physically, mentally, names and identities and histories.</p><p>And so the two men's paths cross and merge, and they begin down a different path: one in which the real world is left outside the door, and the only communication is though the senses. Bodie can push away the wounds deep inside and Doyle can exorcise demons - without the entanglement of emotional ties.</p><p>The perfect arrangement for two strong-willed men looking to cheat society’s expectations.</p><p>...Except payback, as they say, can be a bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

[ ](http://i.imgbox.com/adgnqWGJ.jpg)

All things are born from darkness into light.

Light and brightness follow all beings, clothing them in the glow of innocence, of purity, of hope and promise. Its beams illuminate the way forward, promising a better tomorrow. Its white heat bathes aspirations, spotlights a belief in the innate goodness of man. 

All things look to the light to grow and prosper.

However, in some places, the light may not reach all far-flung corners. In other places, it may change as the day progresses. It may expose cracks in the earth under the yellow midday heat; or shine too hotly, leaving secrets exposed by fingers of red light. Hope can morph into a desperate scrabble, changing the starry-eyed lad of the morning into the experience-burdened man who has seen too much, too many progressions of the sun across the sky, and wishes to see no more.

And when the brightness becomes too intense, and burns at a mere touch, some choose to retreat back into the protective arms of the darkness.


	2. Day One: Friday 5 May 1978

Flat 5, 223 Camden High Street.

It was a small apartment, in a run-down section of Camden Town. The blinds were drawn, the daylight shut out, the quiet broken only occasionally by the scrabble of mice behind the walls.

Seemingly a place well-suited for not standing out, not letting too much of the world creep over his skin.

The apartment was dark and quiet - the quietest place Bodie had been in since getting back. Seated on the floor in a corner of a room- a classic defensive position - he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. The hush wrapped itself around him, soothing his nerves, shutting out the strangeness of a world that made his skin want to crawl from his bones.

But still, they were there: the scraping along his nerves and the roaring in his ears that had been with him for what now seemed to be an eternity. They were soothed somewhat, true, but not completely gone. They never left him, continually rubbing his senses raw with nothing to counteract them. Nothing in the bush, nothing in the run-down excuse for a hotel by the Kinshasa airport, nothing as he stood outside the arrivals hall at Gatwick and breathed in the heavy, fuel-laden air of his home shores.

There was nothing to prevent the constant tactile onslaught - and oh, how Bodie would have grasped at any balm. But the only thing that had come close was the quiet of this space, with its temporary relief. Here he was away from the crowds, the noise, the expectations of manners and interactions and socialisation that he no longer could live up to.

He could rent this place; he could stay here for awhile, could use it as a bolt hole to hide away. 

He let the silence wash over him more.

##

Unexpectedly, the door swung open, letting some of that roiling turmoil outside barge in to disrupt the peace. Eyes adapted to the dark, and not in line of sight of the door, Bodie couldn't make out the body stumbling into the apartment, nor did he much care. All he could tell was that it was intruding on the little peace he'd found. 

_Maybe if I ignore him he'll go away._

The tattoo of footsteps proceeded into the room as the intruder began to take the measure of the bare apartment: a slow _tap-tap-tap_ across the entry into the main room, another _tap-tap-tap-tap-tap_ into the adjacent room. The steps continued farther on, then turned back towards the room in which Bodie sat propped against the wall. He continued to hope until the last possible second that the figure would give up, find the place too run down, decide that the space wasn't welcoming enough. _Just keep going, don't look over towards the corner._

"'Eh, and who are you?" A slight touch of the Midlands disrupted the quiet. In the gloom, Bodie could just make out a slim yet solid man, curly hair ( _must be in England, back in the bush that would have been cut down to nothing long ago_ ), leather jacket and well-worn boots. The man was looking in his general direction, but Bodie would guess that his eyes still hadn't adapted enough to the dark to make out much, and the electricity in the flat had been shut off. At least there was that much protection. 

He stared up at the figure.

"Said, who *are* you... Normally sit around in dark, run-down flats, sunshine?" 

"Just resting my eyes. Ignore me, and maybe I'll go away."

"Didn't say at the Estate Agent's that this place came with its own ghost - though there was the mixup with the key. Look, you homeless or something?"

"Don't be daft. If you're here to look at the apartment, then look while you can. Leave me be." Bodie leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes.

"Sure, sunshine, don't mind me." The _tap-tap-tap_ crossed the room, stopping on the far side to pull the blinds open, letting the light - and the outside world - flood in.

 _Berk._ Bodie let his eyes adjust to the light, then looked more closely at the other figure. The man was standing before a wardrobe, peering into the interior. _Oh, how domestic._ The hair was definitely curly, the jeans he wore snug beneath the jacket. Quite snug, reminding Bodie of some of the laws of the jungle. Those laws wouldn't quite meet the same reception here; all the same he felt the initial stirrings of interest.

The man turned, green eyes focusing on his. "Oh, so you are among the living."

Bodie didn't bother acknowledging the comment.

The look on the man's face softened a bit. "Look, I'm serious - if you're down on your luck, I can give you an address where you can get three squares and a roof until you can get yourself together -" And the other man reached out to help Bodie up.

##

Bodie looked into those eyes: green, open, almost trusting. He saw many things in their depths - humanity, kindness, conscientiousness, and a few other -nesses he didn't believe in. But other things lurked there as well, things that the other man either kept well hidden or didn't consciously know. For Bodie, who lived by his wits and survived by reading those he came in contact with, who had experienced some of those other things himself, who saw them now and instantly understood what they could mean, they acted as instant markers: this man was nowhere near as straightforward as the façade he presented.

Avoiding the outstretched hand, Bodie pushed himself up, then pulled back a bit to study the man further. The curls, the bomber jacket, the jeans - yeah, just a front. More interesting were the long, lean, sinuous lines to the body, which whispered of a raw sexuality lying just beneath the clothing. But that unconscious presence was also constrained by a certain rigidity, the type of stance that a figure of authority might adopt. 

_Plod. The blue-eyed boy is a plod._

_That must work a treat for him, too._

The other man looked as though he were about to say something, but turned away, leaving it unspoken. "Just let me know, mate. But I have to finish up here soon, got people to meet, places to be." He turned and moved towards the bathroom.

Bodie admired the curve of the receding rear. _Been awhile, but could try my luck._

"You interested in this place, sunshine?" A muffled question floated back to Bodie. 

"Maybe. It's quiet enough - when the regiment aren't trooping through."

"Har bloody har. Regular comedian, you are." A slight pause as the boots retraced their path. "Well, not sure it'll do me, but at least I can say I've put some effort into this." The figure re-entered the room in which Bodie stood to lean against the far wall, arms crossed. "Sure you're okay, mate?"

"Fine, fine. Just been away a long time."

"Okay. Have to go, but don't want to leave you here stranded."

"You won't."

"Well, if you're sure then, cheers." The other man launched himself from the wall and headed towards the front door. Bodie watched the body swinging past to move out of range. All he could think was that he'd never see that just-restrained energy again, never have the chance to confirm what he was sure he'd seen in those deep green eyes -

And he reached out and grabbed the wrist moving past, using the element of surprise to swing the other body around and against the dingy wall.

##

They stood, face to face, Bodie pinning the man to the wall with a stare. 

"So - want to do something for me, do you? Been away, been far away for quite a bit. There's something you could do for me right about now."

The green eyes stared back, no sign of fear in the least. "Are you normally in the habit of grabbing strange men, sunshine? Or am I the only lucky one?"

Bodie studied the face, ready to move further, challenging the man to resist.

"Or _do_ you do this often? There could well be an action or two you're contemplatin' that might see you up for indecency."

He wished the man would shut up; he wanted to do this without thinking. Though now the imperfect surface of a once-broken cheekbone snagged his attention. He hadn't noticed it before; it gave the other man a sharp edge, a certain something that made him more attractive. 

"Somehow, though, I don't think decency is a pressing concern of yours." 

"Shut your mouth." 

"Oh, tough guy, now? And if I don't?"

"Shut it, or I'll shut it for you." Bodie pressed the man more firmly against the wall.

The green eyes just smirked at him, daring him to go ahead, just _do_ it.

And, driven by the memories of a land with other rules, and the feeling of disorientation in this one, Bodie dived in, grinding his lips against the other's. He was aware at some level that he must be bruising the stranger - but what should he care, he'd never see him again. This was a moment in time, a way to slake a thirst and push back the foreignness for awhile.

And the body flush against his... was responding. 

The reaction only goaded Bodie into pressing harder, taking more, _demanding_ more. He stole the breath from the mouth he was raiding, invaded the body with his roaming hands, started a slow but unmistakable grind against the narrow hips. This was about taking what he wanted, and he would take every bit he could get. 

The stranger reached up to grab Bodie's face, to respond in kind.

 _No._ Bodie grabbed the wrists, forced them to the wall. No one could, _would_ touch him like that; no one would have that power over him. That was the sort of thing that got a man killed in the bush. 

He pulled back, letting go of the wrists, to see the green eyes studying him, the challenging light still in them; the full lips parted, panting. He dived back in again. 

_Still in the mood, then. Just distract him a bit, make it good for him._ Bodie manoeuvred the other body enough to work the zip of the jeans down partway, only to have strong hands bat his away and complete the job. He made quick work of his own flies and pants, pushing them out the way just enough to free himself, grab both cocks in one hand, and start to move against the body.

There were only a few seconds of fumbling; then they fell into an easy, natural rhythm. The other man's eyes proceeded to roll to the ceiling as a moan escaped his lips. _Good; you won't have complaints._

This - this was good. More than good; better than most he'd had, and they were doing precious little. The man was incredibly responsive; seemed like an inferno blazed underneath that skin. Just took the right touch to make the flames leap. He himself was racing up the curve, feeling the energy the way he did on the best jobs, the adrenaline coursing through his system right before they'd strike a target, anticipation driving him harder, harder -

And then he heard a catch in the man's moans, and he himself was exploding, shattering, dissolving with the bliss, unable to tell who was coming over what and where it all ended.

##

The heavy door to 223 Camden High Street swung open, and two men tumbled out and down the stairs. They might have been departing together, they might have just arrived at the same place at the same time; it was difficult to tell. Given their faces, blank as the now-overcast, blustery day, it almost didn't matter - they clearly weren't going on together.

The taller one, with the short dark hair and fluid-yet-menacing air, turned left and headed off down the pavement, turning up his collar against the wind. The other - slim, curly-haired, an edge of banked energy to his step - looked around the street; then, jamming his hands into his pockets, took off to the right. 

Raymond Doyle matched his stride to the brisk weather, hunching his shoulders and keeping his head down, as though it gave him a purpose. Fortunately, his trip wasn't taking him far; he turned into Camden tube station, bought a ticket, flashed it at the attendant, and merged into the human stream descending towards the platforms.

[ ](http://i.imgbox.com/abiZ4mrV.jpg)

Through the gates, down the escalators, and into the passages: he was on the move, although preoccupied. The station was busy, though it wasn't peak hours, and a train was pulling in as he got to the platform. He easily found a window seat in the carriage that opened before him and settled into it, propping his elbow against the sill and his chin against his palm, staring out of the glass.

Humanity flowed on around him and past him. He first missed the young mother struggling to distract her fussy baby, growing increasingly frustrated. He drifted past them to transfer at Leicester Square, passing through more corridors to seat himself in a new carriage. He continued on unaware despite the loud Americans opposite, armed with expensive cameras and a map which they traced in the wrong direction. Giving up, they departed the carriage after a few stops; two skinny students then took their seats, quietly but hotly debating some issue of earth-shattering importance to the intensity of youth. All that time, the man was absorbed with the movement beyond the window, as the carriage emerged from the dark tunnel into daylight. Streets and brick houses slid by as the train moved further away from inner London. And the man whose career and future prospects depended in large part on his powers of observation noticed nothing of his surroundings.

The stations became more spread out, as did the houses, and the landscape became more suburban; until the train left the trees behind to dip into another tunnel and slow into a turn. A few hundred feet more, and the train pulled to a stop, emitting a spout of pressured air. "Heathrow Central - last stop" came over the speakers; the man stood automatically, then headed towards the escalators. Up and up; he turned in his ticket, walked out through the gates, and entered the terminal. Checking the monitors, he realised just how late he was, and sped up, jogging through Terminal 3. Travellers were streaming towards him, and in fact the crowd was thinning out; their plane was early, and he was late. He scanned the crowds, looking around, and - "Ray!"

"Ray! Over here. I thought you'd forgotten to come," in a reproachful voice. 

And he turned, and she moved into his arms, fitting into the space.

"Ann," he smiled at her. 

"Hello, lover," she smiled back.

##

The dark-haired man had taken a different route, opposite to the stranger. He slowly walked the pavement, in no particular hurry. The random act in the apartment had left him feeling unusually calm; temporary though it would ultimately be, the sensation was enough to push him towards renting the apartment, even if he could use only his memories of the afternoon to recapture the feeling. He'd never see the curly-haired bloke again, but the man had left a noticeable impression all the same - and one of the better memories by far.

Bodie turned into a street, hands deep in pockets, navigating through the crowds without collisions. Glowering was unnecessary, in fact had little effect here; unlike the plod, people in this neighbourhood kept their own counsel. A little farther along the broken pavement, and in through a weather-beaten door, and Bodie arrived in a darkened space that aspired to the title of pub.

He passed along the length of the bar, keeping the scowl on his face, until he was able to prop himself up in a far corner. There were fewer people in this part of the room, and fewer yet willing to strike up a conversation with an acid-faced stranger. The corner position also afforded him an excellent view of the door and all escape routes.

"Make yourself comfortable." After years of practice, the barman knew how to balance custom and intrusiveness. "Same as last time, mate?"

A curt nod led to a pint and a shot of whisky being placed before Bodie. One last scan around the room; and then, taking a pull of the beer, he relaxed enough to get down to the business of drinking.

Bodie felt at some peace for the first time in a long time; a decent fuck and a decent pint could work wonders. The sound in the pub was tolerable, the seat was adequate, the roar inside his head had dulled; Bodie appreciated the respite. There was no place he needed to go, and with enough lubrication he'd get there at an easy pace. 

_Peace. Blessed, bloody peace._

[ ](http://i.imgbox.com/acfPdEjE.jpg)

Only a few minutes of peace, however, before a familiar figure peeled itself from further down the railing and started in his direction. 

With a scowl and a soft curse, he hefted the glass to his lips and proceeded to down the beverage in one go. He hoped that the other man would be discouraged and stay away. No such luck; the visage that had emerged with the bottom of the glass remained after the glass was back on the table. 

"Benny Marsh. Of all the dives in all the backwaters in all the capitals of the world, I would have to meet you in this one." He slammed the whisky back and took a breath. "Not taking any jobs right now, Benny."

"Bodie, Bodie, Bodie... is that any way to treat a comrade? Someone who's watched your back more than your own sainted mother?"

"Leave my mother out of this; neither of you are saints, and neither she nor you have ever, or will ever, cast an eye upon each other. Trying to drink in peace here; state your business and go. Or better yet, just go."

"Look, Bodie - I know that that last Congo job ended a bit unfortunate-like. But it ended, and we're all here, yes?"

"Not all of us."

"And anyone who goes out into the bush knows they're takin' risks. That's rule number one."

"What in the twelve hells do you want, Benny?"

"Eh, yeah. Got some news for you. Krivas is puttin' together a new job, with quite the paycheque at the end. Lookin' for only the best. And you know you're the best, Bodie."

"Shove off, Benny. Told you not takin' any jobs. And definitely not with Krivas."

"It would be a good one, Bodie - one of the best. Enough to retire on. Want to make sure you get in on the action - "

"Gerroff." The growl wasn't loud, but it got its point across. "Before there's one more casualty of that Congo expedition."

"Okay, okay, point taken. I know when it's a lost cause." Benny lifted his hands in defeat. "Know enough not to push you when you're in one of your moods." He started moving away, then turned back. "Look, Bodie, friendly suggestion. Take it as you will. Go out, find a woman, hire some local talent, all the same to me. But get the girl out of your system. She was some do-gooder in the wrong place at the wrong time, which was nobody's fault but her own. Mark my words, though - if you go on like this, you'll explode. And exploding does not work back here." With that, Benny Marsh turned and shuffled off down the bar and out the door.


	3. Day Two: Saturday 6 May 1978

Doyle stepped into the sudden darkness of the lobby, the heavy door closing firmly behind him. He was surprised at how completely the hall was shut off from the bright world outside; he hadn't noticed when he'd been there before. Then again, going in he'd been preoccupied with finding the right flat, and going out he'd been preoccupied, full stop.

He hadn't expected to ever be back, either - except for the bracelet. 

The bracelet had been a gift from Ann, one that she often played with and commented on, a chain whose links she enjoyed tugging. And it was no longer in his possession. While he'd had clear doubts about coming back and risking seeing the other man again, the chain was valuable enough (whether in pounds or memories or obligations owed) to make the effort to find it. Well, no need for a big production: he'd knock, and if the man answered the door, he'd just walk in, retrace his steps, locate the bracelet, and leave. The earlier episode would never be mentioned, would never have happened. It was easy enough to do; and he'd quickly meld back into his life and Ann, this momentary bit of distraction permanently behind him.

And then again, perhaps the other man had decided not to take the apartment.

When he got to the door, it was wide open with no one in sight. He stepped in a bit further when his tight rap failed to produce a result; luck would seem to be with him. "Hello? Hello?" Now he was in the apartment proper. "Anyone in?" _Still vacant. Good._

"'Scuse us, sir, where'd you like the table?" 

He whirled quickly. Two burly workers had come up behind him to fill the doorway, a table hefted between them. 

"Excuse me?"

"Table - s'a bit heavy, sir." 

"Oh, yes." Witnesses, just in case, though whether that were good or bad he wasn't sure. He glanced around to find an appropriate spot. "Right there will do."

The workmen placed the table upright, then returned to ferry in a few pieces of mismatched furniture. Doyle moved further into the apartment on the off chance they'd expect more direction. He was here solely to retrieve his property.

He studied a chair placed to the side. Simple and sturdy and certainly nothing expensive, it was made for function over form. The kind of chair in which you'd sit, and stand on to change the overhead light bulb, and rest the shopping on until you could get it into the kitchen -

"Well, well, well - if it isn't Goldilocks. So you're back. Looking for the big bad bear, then?"

Doyle frowned. Of course _he'd_ be here. _Like a bloody soldier, guarding an outpost._

"Not at all, _Soldier Boy._ Came to reclaim some property. Left some incriminating evidence; have to clean that up before it links me to the scene of the crime."

"Not a crime if you acknowledge your role in it." The man glanced over to where the workmen were angling a mattress through the open door. "Hang on a moment." He strode over to them; then, pointing, led them into another room.

_Should go look for the bracelet. Just find the bracelet and leave._ But there wasn't much to look through. The apartment had been empty when they'd - met before, not that it was full of furniture now. It should be simple enough to find the bracelet and leave while he could, before the other man came back. He wandered over to the fireplace, near where he was sure they'd been _that_ time, and crouched down to search.

"Find your crown jewels, sunshine?" The man had snuck up behind Doyle and was almost on top of him. Doyle started to swing around and, realising just how the man had positioned his crotch right before Doyle's face, rolled his body into a stand. 

"Looking for a bracelet, that's all. Was a gift." 

"Sure about that? People lose things every day, and easily explain it away. And when they have bad experiences, they don't return for more. One might think that you'd come back just to see me."

Doyle looked into the cold blue eyes, ignoring the other man's nearness. "Told you - lost it, and it's valuable. Would've just slipped in and out; you'd never have known I'd been here." 

"But I know now. So what shall we do about it?" He was leaning in, the lips getting closer, just hovering. "Maybe... fuck our brains out?" He grabbed Doyle's arse and pulled him flush against his groin.

"Isn't this a little sudden, Soldier Boy?" Doyle elbowed some room between the two of them, amazed his brain was still able to function. "Despite what happened earlier. We just ran into each other, don't even know each other's names. Should introduce ourselves." Confidence was starting to seep back into his body. "Here, I'll start. Me, I'm Ra-"

"No, no, NO." The other man pushed him back against the wall with just-restrained force. "NO names. Names would ruin it. Names are for the outside, the world with its names and categories and rules. All that commotion in a world that will stab you in the back as quick as look at you." 

Doyle looked at him, feeling a frown forming at the corners of his mouth. "That's a bit daft, isn't it?"

"Don't you see, though? The world is outside, beyond these walls. In here, we just - are." The hands relaxed their grip on Doyle's jacket and dropped to the dark haired man's sides. "Be honest - you wouldn't have come back here sniffing around if there wasn't some interest, if there wasn't something you'd prefer to hide as well. You and me - we've got something together. Was fast before, but was too good to deny that. And we can continue on with it. Just you and me, and this thing between us - for as long as it lasts. But the outside stays on the other side of that door.

"I dare you, Goldilocks. We're alone now, just the two of us in here. I can see that you want it, but you have to make a move. Or are you afraid?"

"This is ridiculous," Doyle responded, almost muttering to himself. "I don't know you. You're a stranger. Who knows what you'd do; could do things and no one would know what happened. You could just be intendin' to do me bodily harm. Wouldn't take it lyin' down; but if you could manage it - what would be there to go on afterwards? 

"Completely ridiculous," he repeated, like a personal mantra. "This gets out, you could ruin my life." _But there's a logic to it, ridiculous though it might be. In the end, no more frightening than neighbourhood toughs waiting for their playground tribute._

Doyle thought about his respectable job, and his respectable life, and respectable Ann - and whatever it was that had happened and could continue to happen here. Perhaps in this space he could sort through whatever was in his head: no names, no trail, completely anonymously. Work it out of his system, once and for all. 

"Yes,... no names," he slowly agreed. "Safer that way."

"Just you and me and this flat, weekdays 3-5. Pencil it in."

In response, Doyle, turning, began to unbutton his shirt as he led them to the mattress.

##

And that time, as they slowly slid through the movements; as the stranger built a fire within Doyle through his touches - for Doyle still could not touch him - and methodically stoked it into a blaze; as he pressed slowly into his body, Doyle felt something new: a sense of _completeness_ that had been hinted at before. Something that wasn't demanded or expected, but was an integral part of him, that had been loosened inside him.

And it _hadn't_ required any rituals or courtship or names. 

Maybe the soldier wasn't as crazy as he sounded.


	4. Interlude #1

The day was well on the way to fulfilling its promise: an oh-so-blue sky (though not as intensely blue as that stranger's eyes), soft, billowy clouds floating against it. A sun still early-spring warm, the proper temperature to provide warmth, though not quite yet at its peak. The rains of the prior days and weeks had abated, and the weather promised much for the future. Spring was well and truly underway; the days would only get better going forward.

It was the sort of spring day upon which poets built expansive sonnets, and of which policemen working night shifts took careful notice.

So it made perfect sense for him to be hand-in-hand in the park with Ann, on this lovely early spring day.

_Wasn't that what couples in love did, anyway?_

"Here, Ray?"

"Hmmm?"

"Here. Was this the place that you were telling me about?"

 _Ah, yes. Back to the matter at hand._ "Yes, just about here. Me mam," a frown started settling across her face, "Me _mum_ brought me here when we made the grand trip to London, to see the Coronation." 

"She'd wanted to make sure you were there to witness history and tell her grandchildren, I suppose."

"Yes, I suppose, though she might have just seen it as her duty. I was too young to remember much in the way of details, at any rate."

"At that age, I'm sure you were. What _do_ you remember?"

"Mainly that I wanted an ice lolly."

"An ice lolly? Really?" Ann laughed her tinkling laugh and poked him in the arm. 

"Yes, and it made sense that the man who sold them in our corner shop must be nearby - all of England was here, why wouldn't he be? So I went off to find him. Of course he was nowhere to be seen, and mum was frantic. But I was determined, and actually quite irritated that he wasn't to be found. Several hours later, Mum found me with the police. I got an incredible hiding for it later; but some officer had managed to hunt down an ice lolly man, despite the solemn occasion - so in the end I'd got my ice lolly, too."

She smiled up at Doyle. "See, silly? From lolly tracker to Detective Inspector." 

"I'm a detective currently on the night shift, Ann, hardly near DI -"

"But you'll get there, you're on a path straight ahead to that." He started to protest, but she continued. "You keep insisting there's nothing special about you, that you're just like everyone else, but it's not true. Or rather, it _is_ true, but you're something, someone new. The proof that the class walls are tumbling down, that anyone can aspire to be anything they want.

"You're a witness to a great change in British society, Ray - no, you're the example of it. Everyman, with unique bits and pieces inside you, who has used those bits to move from a working-class childhood to the levers of power."

"It's hardly power when I'm just one of a number of DCs."

"No, it _is_ power, Ray. You are the face of the future, cracked cheek and Midland tones. And for once, it's a plus, Ray, a positive - that anyone can join the larger stream of society and fit in perfectly. 

"Those bits and pieces that make up your essence - they should be recalled and brought to the fore, uncovered and celebrated as the things that shape who you are."

 _Who I am? Sure you really know?..._ "But I'm not special, and neither was my childhood. Thousands of people are from Derby. And how often do children wander off, get rediscovered - and, beyond a few hours of worry and bother, life doesn't much change? That's a pretty common tale, Ann; plays out for thousands of families every day. Doesn't make you into Hercules. Making it into anything more is just your writer's nature, looking for a story to tell."

"Not true, Ray, not true at all, and I'll prove it to you... Oh, I know!"

"What?" He wasn't sure if he should be worried about the grin spreading across her face.

"I've got it! I'll interview _you_ , write your story, see what makes you you."

"But, Ann - "

No, it'll be perfect. Don't - don't be unhappy about this, okay? I just want to know about you. I want to know everything about you; and, if I write about you, it'll be personal - it'll be a complete picture of the man I know and love." She gave him a quick kiss. "And who knows - this could be it, an opportunity for me to get beyond the editing side of the table and really _create_ something. You know I've wanted to get ahead, move beyond and really break out into the creative side of things."

From what she'd told him, he'd always seen her as quite successfully efficient - coldly, single-bloody-mindedly efficient - at the business side of the industry, but he wasn't sure this was the time to tell her that.

"And it's a gift I can give to you. Because I want to be with you a very long time, Raymond Doyle. I want to know all there is to know about you." She leant over and kissed him.

Doyle gave her a kiss back, but inside felt much less calm than he let on. It was very true that he felt a measure of fondness for Ann Holly; she was, at heart, a good person. But no one - _no one_ \- knew everything there was to know about Raymond Doyle, and there was no way that he was going to share that with anyone. 

Especially not after what had gone on in 223 Camden High Street. Because truthfully, he wasn't sure what was going on there himself.

##

Black dresses, black suits. A sea of black, a dark wave breaking amongst the headstones. 

Bodie stood some distance away, observing the gathering while staying out of direct view. Partially blocked by a particularly high headstone, most of the mourners would have marked him as observing his own remembrances and not given him another thought. But there was only one person that Bodie knew of connected to this cemetery.

[ ](http://i.imgbox.com/adxKCe3P.jpg)

He glanced surreptitiously at the group. There was the bishop in his vestments; no mere vicar here, and Bodie guessed that the family would have tried for the Bishop of Fulham himself. Opposite him stood what he guessed were the deceased's parents: a woman and a man, severe and spotless in black, undoubtedly grief-stricken but too well-mannered to show it. After that was anyone's guess: various relatives, grandparents and cousins and siblings, friends who hadn't seen the deceased in years, others who were there out of a sense of duty more than a sense of loss.

After a time, the bishop's hand motions ceased, and he closed his bible. A slight murmur of voices reached Bodie, but he wasn't paying much attention to any individual conversations. He'd primarily got what he came for: the reactions of the family to the loss, and his own bit of paying his respects.

Respects to a grave without a coffin, whose body was forever far away.


	5. Day Three: Monday 8 May 1978

The next time Doyle went to the flat, it was immensely easier. 

He found there was no great effort involved in waking up and heading into the bathroom; after a quick shower and shave, in easing into his off-work uniform of t-shirt and jeans, then descending to the sun-drenched street. There was no hardship in taking the Tube as far as Camden Town, joining the mass of bodies ascending the escalator to the surface, then walking nonchalantly to 223 Camden High Street. As though it were the most normal thing in the world, as though there were no danger in exposure, as though there were nothing notable about the apartment up the stairs and down the hall. 

Which he once again found himself standing before.

Things had gone so quickly. It had only been three days earlier that he'd thought to move his life along by looking for an apartment that he and Ann could share. Ann had been hinting about his lack of contribution to the relationship, after all. And living together would be the next step, right? Instead, he'd ended up in a neighbourhood that would never have measured up to expectations, in a flat that would have never passed any meaningful council inspection, and in a situation that would send everything in that predetermined life crashing down if it ever became known.

And he'd never even realised that such a situation was possible until this had happened.

And yet, the changes that three days could bring. Here he was, in front of that worn door once again. And yearning to see, to experience, to _taste_ the soldier again. He wondered how this would end.

Doyle reached out and knocked against the scratched wood. The door opened to reveal the focus of his thoughts.

##

Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said.

The dark-haired man opened the door, as if he'd always been waiting for Doyle. Doyle, for his part, merely walked in and followed the familiar path to the room with the single mattress, the stranger following close behind. He heard the door click shut behind him.

[ ](http://i.imgbox.com/abc27n2z.jpg)

Once inside, he immediately, silently began to disrobe; pulling his t-shirt over his curls, folding his garments neatly and placing them to the side. He knew that the man was mirroring his actions, removing his clothing and laying it to the side. Doyle imagined that military training dictated orderliness, though he didn't waste much time pondering it. For he was down to the last items: the socks, then the underpants, and now he was naked, and lowering himself to the mattress, anticipating the soldier's touch.

And he wasn't kept waiting for long; a dip in the bed to the side, and his partner in this mad venture joined him. He eased down beside Doyle, then turned him to face a full, all-senses-involved kiss - meant to pull him from any thoughts about location and actions and such and just commanding him to feel the touch, to know and experience things he'd thought about - and had thought he'd buried long ago.

Maybe he didn't know much - hell, he didn't know _anything_ about this man. But the lack of knowledge, and going against the dictates of his life - this stripping down of human contact to its bare physicality - somehow, crazily enough, made little difference to the experience.

He relaxed into the springs beneath him and let the feelings the soldier's hands drew out wash over him.

##

Bodie was finding the sex - and, truthfully, just the sheer responsiveness of his partner - felt new and different every time he touched the man. 

A kiss - prolonged, and as deep as Bodie could make it - could loosen the man up, knock the scowl off his face and make him forget whatever nonsense was distracting him. One quick nip on the side of the neck would produce a gasp; scraping his teeth across a nipple, a moan. Bodie had fun dragging that out, listening to the moan lengthen, and draw out, and terminate in a little hiccup and a curse. When Bodie finally zeroed in on the main focus of the proceedings, just staring at the organ before him, he knew - _knew_ \- that the man wanted to reach out and grab Bodie, wanted to push his head down to engulf the straining length. And yet Bodie knew that the man wouldn't touch him, not after that first time; that the fingers, though strong enough, would twist around the sheets but never leave them, though the mouth might curse a time or two until something happened. Opening the man was a joy; Bodie enjoyed providing that sweet torture as he finally swallowed the organ and added first one, then two, then three fingers to the mix. And when the man was close - and it was a near thing, but Bodie already could judge when it was close, when the man was just about to tip over the edge - Bodie would stop (grinning at the sound of disappointment and yet another curse), slick himself, settle himself in, then slowly press into that heat, that wonderful, glorious heat.

Sometimes it was slow; sometimes it was fast, a total conflagration; but Bodie could never say that it was ever less than all-consuming, and never less than completely satisfying.

And as he came back down from the high, and recovered his senses, Bodie would find himself sprawled over the other figure, both men needing to catch their breaths after such an event. Once he'd carefully pulled out of the prone body and moved to the side, Bodie felt nothing so much as wanting to surrender consciousness and sleep like a baby.

##

"So."

"So," Bodie echoed. There really wasn't much else to say, after that.

"Too wrung out to move. Feel like staying here forever, just staring at the ceiling."

A grunt from Bodie.

"Might have to rethink my assessment of your sanity. Even without a clue about you, that was better than it had any right to be."

"Just 'better'?"

"Just complimented you, Soldier Boy, if you hadn't noticed. But - what do I call you? Not looking for personal information, but I can't very well continue on with 'hey, you,' now can I?"

"Well, there's 'tall, dark, and handsome,' for one."

"And engagingly modest, I see."

Bodie snorted. "Well, I'm famed for my prowess north, south, east and west. S'hard to contain that all in one label."

"Oh, I see, then." The other man shut his eyes for a second, then continued. "Suppose I could call you Wide Arse - "

"Hey!"

"- since you've spread yourself out so far and wide."

Bodie rolled over on top of the man and looked down into the green eyes. "Blasphemy. Arse s'not wide at all. It is a model among arses.

"And you," he jabbed a finger into the deliciously hairy chest, "are not suffering at all from the attentions of my 'wide arse,' as you so crudely and inaccurately put it." 

"So should I just call you Arse, then?"

"You, son," Bodie solemnly countered, "don't know when you're well off. I _never_ leave them unsatisfied. More of a Superman type."

The prone man burst out laughing. When he'd recovered, he added, "With a direct bearing on your performance in bed, I suppose. You're not just  
from another planet."

"Well, bed would go without saying. And can prove I was born on Earth; me birth certificate is definitely from the United Kingdom. Even has a royal seal, front and centre."

"Right, King George stopped by the hospital just for you. And I suppose your x-ray vision is enough to make anyone come by just its heat."

"Well, of course."

"So, prove it. Do your best with that much-vaunted vision of yours. Or your worst; however you'd like to frame it."

"Oh, it will be _far_ from my worst, old son." Bodie gave the laughing man his sternest look, which he was just able to maintain without breaking up into his own laughter.

"On the other hand, never mind."

"Never mind?! And here I was giving you my all."

"Never mind, because the lead up to the climax has its own benefits."

"'S'true, that."

"So, 'Soldier Boy' it is, but -"

"Yeeees?"

"Hate to say it, but looks like you might've been right. Being in here, with no outside pressures. Has something to recommend for itself."

"Stick with me, I can take you places you've never dreamed of."

"Yes, Soldier Boy, I just bet you can."

##

"Ray."

They lay together on Ann's bed, sated. She ran her fingers gently across Doyle's rough cheek. Doyle almost didn't flinch.

"Ray," she repeated, gentle but insistent. "I know you don't like to talk about it, but please tell me. How did you get this?"

"Ran into a burning buildin', darlin', and saved an orphanage full of children."

"I'm sure you would do so if need be, but - really. I want to know. Part of my research, remember?" She flashed a bright smile at him.

 _Part of her strategy to win me secrets over, more like._ "Well, mainly the badge of growing up working-class on the streets of Derby, isn't it?"

"Few people are walking around with a badge like that, working-class or not." A note in her voice said she was not to be put off.

"I must be few people, then." But he shifted their bodies to make them more comfortable and tell her as much as she needed to know.

"Was a right tearaway as a boy. Wasn't afraid of anything, and got into everything. Made some enemies along the way, but didn't care. Well, until they caught up with me." He touched his cheek, almost unconsciously. "They made sure I wouldn't forget it, either.

"I woke up in the hospital three days later. Didn't remember much of what happened, but my mum told me it was an off-duty cop who saved me. He kept an eye on me after that, got me on the straight and narrow. Became a mentor." _And once I was on the force, and one of them, I realised that coppers could be just like street toughs, in their own way._

"My god, Ray. Did they catch those boys who did that to you?"

"Maybe that would happen in a Hollywood film, Ann, but this was real life. They weren't caught, but at least one of those kids was shown that things could be different. And here I am."

"And here you are." She smiled up at him, and gave him a quick kiss. "And here to tell me." She kissed him again, a little longer, then settled back down onto the bed. 

After a pause, she continued: "But what could you have done that would want them to beat you so badly? It sounds like an act of sheer wilful violence." 

"Can't give away all my secrets, can I? Wouldn't want you to leave once the mystery was gone."

"I wouldn't leave, Ray. You were a child, you did what you had to to survive in your environment. And you're not doing it now."

 _Don't be so sure._ "It was a challenge. I was encroaching on someone else's territory, which threatened him, and he wanted to make sure I never did that again or forgot."

"Headed for a life as a crime lord, got taken down a peg for your troubles?"

"Something like that."

"Knowing you, more like a Robin Hood in the making."

He snorted. "Except the Sheriff of Nottingham never caught Robin Hood to beat him up." He tugged her to him to distract her, her clean-smelling hair filling his senses. He hoped he wouldn't start sneezing.

"Believe what you want, Ann, make it out however you want. It was in the past, and we're in the here and now. And maybe I should remind you of that."

And once they were done, and sprawled out against each other, and were sliding into sleep, he gave a brief thought to that territory he'd threatened. Its name had been Billy Andrews and it had been Joseph, his older brother with the length of pipe, who taught Doyle to always keep his guard up.


	6. Day Four: Friday 12 May 1978

The same mattress, the same four walls, the same water-stained ceiling.

The same man at the other end of this unfathomable link.

Doyle wondered about closeness and distances, how far was close enough.

"Not the shrinking violet you make me out to be, Soldier Boy. Been through a few wars of my own." Doyle turned to the man lying beside him, staring up at the ceiling. They hadn't done anything yet, were just lying across the mattress, the dark-haired man savouring a cigarette.

"'Course you have, Goldilocks. Just like ninety-nine million other people on the face of the earth."

"What, you're the only one with anything of note? Not that you're talking about it, not you. No, Mr. Quiet, you are."

"No," the other man explained, patronisingly patient, "it's bollocks to think you're the only one with scars. Yes, you have a beaut, see it every time you stare into a mirror, but there are all sorts of scars for all sorts of people."

The dark-haired man stubbed out his cigarette, then continued. "My home was no vicarage garden, you know. The old man was a terror; look at him wrong and you'd get a strapping - even when he wasn't in his cups. Never got something that didn't fade after a few days, but maybe because I left before it happened. Left them, left the city, left the country. Brought myself up, taught myself the ways of the world and how to survive. Liked it that way, too."

"So why'd you come back?" Doyle asked.

"Reasons."

"Reasons."

"Yes, reasons. And leaving's probably one of the better things I did, for all the difficulty." A grin flashed beneath the blue eyes. "Didn't hurt my sex life, either."

"Oh, precocious, were you?"

"Didn't need to be. Born knowing what to do, I was."

"You may know now, but I don't think I want to know about your infancy, with that."

"Well, won't share where it's not appreciated, then. But what about you, Goldilocks? You're clearly no shy virgin, not the way you react. When did you start fancying other people and their private bits?"

"Was maybe 12 or so... wasn't so much fancying private bits as noticing, well, that there was something different about one of my schoolmates."

"Couldn't wait to get your hands into little Sally's underpants, then? Quite the pervert. And you call me precocious."

"No, it wasn't 'little Sally's underpants.' Nothing 'little Sally' about William Andrews, was there?"

"Jesus sodding CHRIST! What do I have to tell you about names? No NAMES."

"Sorry, sorry. You and your damned rules. Can't take a piss without breaking a rule."

"Live with it or get out."

Doyle glared at the man, but continued when it provoked no response. "Okay. Well, *my mate* was my first. We were back behind the school, talking about him catching 'is parents in the act -"

" _In flagrante delicto_ , as it were." The man stood and wandered to the door, rolling his shoulder muscles.

"Yes, and he was trying to piece together what was so exciting about two adults lip-locking. So we tried it on.

"Felt good. Felt really, really good. He mentioned it made him feel good down below, too, so we started comparing the goods. Progressed to wank sessions. And holding each other while we did. And then we were caught by his brother. Gave me a memento to remember it by, but was good until then.

"What the hell?" Doyle turned from his thoughts to see his companion drifting from the room. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You asked me. I answered. But you can't be bothered to listen to the reply."

The dark head disappeared through the doorway into the adjoining room. 

Doyle raised his voice to be heard. "Too important to dirty yourself with the proletariat, then? Well, fuck you. Be by yourself. I was doing for _meself_ before you showed up, and I'll be doing for _meself_ when you're long gone."

Doyle tugged down the zip of his jeans and pushed the cloth down his legs. 

Tired, angry, frustrated, he grabbed hold of his cock and thought. Thought about his childhood; about Billy, left behind long ago; about the times they'd whispered of riding off to explore the world together on a big Triumph, all leather jackets and cigarettes, like Brando or Dean. Just the two of them, flying down the road, going from adventure to adventure, stopping at night to lie in the fields, exploring each other. 

Thought about Billy reaching for him, although now Billy's hair was darker and eyes were bluer, and he had a thin-lipped smirk on his face. He pushed Doyle back and took over -

_Yes, this will feel really good, Ray, like when I do it to meself. And I bet I can make it feel even better. Just stay here, lie back._

And the long, beautifully skilled fingers took over. It felt a little rough and unsure at first, as they were new to sharing this act; but the cool hand quickly figured out just the right pressure to manipulate Ray for better effect. Little whimpers were spilling from Ray, uncontrollable, but Billy kissed the corner of his mouth, perhaps to encourage more. And then the awkwardness began to subside, and soon enough Doyle began to feel himself relax, and his body began to build, build, build to something bigger than before, when he'd tried this alone in his bedroom. It built and built and built until he tipped over, unravelling across all his senses, Billy's look of surprise mingling with the stranger's self-satisfied grin.

And then Doyle returned to the flat, the cheap mattress, the water stain above the bed. 

He turned onto his side towards the edge of the bed, hugging his arms, blankly staring out the window. While it was technically complete, the act had been far from satisfying.

##

On the other side of the wall, in the adjacent room, Bodie had only to hear the sounds to know what was happening, that the man had backed up his words with actions. The rhythmic grunts told him that the other man had himself well in hand, was bringing himself to completion with frustrated pants and moans. The voice was searching, looking for something; had changed tenor but didn't quite seem to find it - at least not in the way he had earlier with Bodie. But the grunts quickened, then hit that little choking sound the man made at his peak.

And eventually the breath slowed down, returned to normal. The lack of any other sound was more than eloquent. But Bodie couldn't go back into the room to see the proof of how well the man had done without him.

_Bastard_ was the word that sprang to his mind; but as Bodie slid down the wall into a crouch, it was a look of utter devastation that lay across his face.


	7. Day Five: Monday 15 May 1978

"Fuck 'em. Fuck all women, I say."

The afternoon sunlight dappled the mattress, adding a discordantly peaceful warmth to the scene in the bedroom.

"And what brought that on?"

"They come, all innocence and smiles; they leave you high and dry. Undependable. S'why it's better with a man. No promises, no negotiating; you just fuck and go as you please. Like with you, Goldilocks."

"Glad to be of some assistance in the grand scheme of your life, Soldier Boy," Doyle stated flatly. "And not sure I agree at all. Quite a few women out there - me mum, me aunt, my girlfr -" the man frowned, "er, quite a few women don't fit into your little box at all."

Doyle paused in his line of thought. "Hang on - is that what this is all about? Some beef with a woman so you decide to cross the street to my door? I've got better things to do in life than that."

"Calm down, don't get yourself in a strop. Not everything is about you." He turned onto his back. "Women, though... doesn't matter what they do, they disappoint in the end. Too messy by far. Much prefer no complications - you go in and get out -"

"And in, and out, and in, and out - all night long, at that," Doyle mused.

"And here I thought my mind was in the gutter." His companion smiled wickedly. "Back to the subject at hand, however: with a man there is no exposure, so no room for entanglements.

"That's why this is perfect. We don't lie to each other, even unintentionally. Don't get the chance. We know why we're here, and we get on with it. Quite tidy, that."

"And now I'm a tidy piece on the side. Oh, wonderful - even better than being a kept man," Doyle responded.

"No. You - you're a bit mouthy, but you are perfect for this. As though made to order. Quite like having you at hand, Goldilocks."

Doyle felt the slightest warmth inside, despite himself.

##

Bodie stood by the front door, not a little unsettled.

Goldilocks was in the bathroom, cleaning up after their session. And it had been a good session - _very_ good. Perhaps the best so far. The curly-haired man was such a randy bugger it was always a pleasure to spend time with him.

Despite that, Bodie felt a little uneasy. It was true that he liked having the man around, that they fitted together well. But the earlier talk might have taken it too far. Things were not to get too close; after all, rules were rules.

The water shut off in the bathroom; there was a slight pause, then he heard the boots begin their _tap-tap-tap_ towards the front door. "Going out?" floated from down the hall. "Good, we can head out together -"

Bodie slammed the door to and started down the hallway, quickly putting the safety of distance between him and the apartment. He could hear the crash of something thrown and a loud string of cursing from as far away as the staircase.

##

Doyle looked across the table at Ann, as she methodically cut her omelette into bite-sized morsels. It was standard cafeteria food, nothing special, a quick bite before Ann had to get back to her office and Doyle had to report in for his shift. But her manners would not have been amiss at the Dorchester. Or so Doyle supposed. 

"Ray," Ann said, between bites, her mouth clear, "don't forget we have Tina's wedding coming up. Have to pick up your jacket from the shop."

"Was going to wear the brown one. What's wrong with that?"

"It's a little worn, isn't it? And brown is too informal. This requires something a little more tailored. Plus your tie" - she emphasised the singular - "doesn't go with anything brown."

"I barely know these people, and they barely know me. Can't we leave it as 'Ann's crazy boyfriend'?" He didn't relish having to choke in a tie and jacket for an entire day.

"No, we cannot. Come on, Ray - you'll look good, and you'll knock 'em dead. And everyone has to dress properly from time to time - it's good practice."

"Good practice for what?" Doyle put his knife and fork down. _We've never talked about the long term before. 'No promises, no negotiating' - that's what Soldier Boy had said._ "Ann, can't we leave it right now? Not like we're the ones getting married."

"Excuse me?"

"Going to this party, getting dressed up, being fake-happy. I've no problem going, it's what you want; but passing a dress code to wish some strangers good luck - is that all necessary? Seems a tad forced."

"It's not _you_ getting married, Ray; it's them." Her tones were becoming quite clipped, even as his were broadening into the lowlands of Derby. "They have certain expectations around how they share the news with their friends, not the least of which is a certain level of comportment. They made the decision; we're making their day memorable. Or at least trying."

"How is it trying if it's about appearances?"

"It's not just about appearances. It is about respect, and being polite in civilised society. You should consider that. Closely." Sighing, she glanced at her watch. "Well, I need to get back to work anyway. I suppose I will speak to you later, when you've had a chance to think about it and move beyond whatever is getting up your nose." Ann pushed the chair back from the table, threw her serviette on the tray, and stalked off. Doyle's eyes tracked her course through the cafeteria and out of the door.

Disgusted, Doyle threw his coffee spoon onto the tray on top of the crumpled, lipstick-smeared paper square.

He wasn't quite sure what had just happened. Things were usually easier with Ann. They'd talked before about how he dressed; she'd even gone shopping with him on occasion. It was just this time the thought seemed wrong and hollow to him, more disrespectful despite what Ann had said. He didn't think - didn't _want_ to think that the stranger had been right. It wasn't easier with a man, especially a crazy blue-eyed one whose existence could utterly ruin Doyle's life; but maybe there was something to what he'd said. Battle of the sexes, and all that.

He frowned at no one in particular, and pushed his chair back to leave. She'd get over it, he'd wear a tie for a couple of hours, and things would be fine. All couples had arguments from time to time.


	8. Day Six: Wednesday 17 May 1978

The door to the apartment sprung open and Doyle stumbled in, all dripping and dishevelled from the afternoon downpour outside. 

"Hello, there, Soldier Boy. Kill anyone today?"

The man in question sat across the main room facing the door, a large knife in his hand, a loaf of bread and slices of ham on opened wrappers near him. He merely looked up at the man framed in the doorway, not saying a word.

"So there you are, making yourself at home. Eating as always. Not that that should be any surprise. One thing I've learned about you, no food item is safe from you. Swiss rolls run screaming down the street when you come round."

He shut the door behind him, then slipped off his wet trainers and placed them next to it. Task done, he stopped to look at the soldier, who was still staring back at him. 

"You know, was thinking earlier, on the way here. Had a thought to tell someone about you."

Doyle was determined to initiate some sort of conversation, whether or not the other man was willing. "Someone on the outside. Tell 'em about the crazy man I go see, in the secret flat. We come in, we have sex, we go out. Nothing else. Don't know who he is. Don't know anything about him. Don't even know his name. My no-name non-lover. 'He's a real noooo-where-man'..."

"Goldilocks." Just the one word, in a quiet voice.

"What?"

"Bring us the butter, would you?"

"Haven't heard a single thing I've said, have you?" Doyle gave him an exasperated look. "But then, what's new."

"Please."

Doyle went to the ancient fridge and pulled out a block, then threw it at the seated man. It fell just short - probably on purpose - but didn't fall out of its wrapper.

Doyle sat down on the floor, facing away from the other man, and continued with his screed, staring out the rain-streaked window. "But you know, I figured no one would believe me. 'How is it possible? Why would you have sex with a stranger? Who is this person? Could be a derelict, an escaped criminal, an axe murderer. Could blackmail you, make your life a living hell.' Yeah, why would I do that?"

The man eased himself up behind Doyle, and placed his hand on his shoulders. He did not say anything.

"Why do I do it, Soldier Boy? Why am I here with a man who has such an extensive assortment of problems that he can't even talk about the outside world?" But he let the man ease him down sideways to the floor.

Finally, the man began to speak.

"Why _are_ you here, sunshine?" He placed a tiny kiss on Doyle's shoulder. "Because you're like me; there are parts of you which can't stand the light of day. Like vampire bats, we are." He manoeuvred himself on top of Doyle, securing him so that the lighter man was pinned face-down. "You've been kicked one too many times, and can't take it any more." With some difficulty, he started to unbuckle Doyle's belt and loosen the tight jeans.

"Gerroff. Don't want to do this now."

"You want to be yourself, and there's no place out there for you to do that. So you come to me, and this protected space, and you're just that. Yourself." 

The man managed to work the trousers down with no small bit of struggle. Then, shifting the butter to his side and taking a bit on his fingers, he began to massage it around the ring of Doyle's anus.

"Gerroff me!" Doyle began to buck, but wasn't able to dislodge the heavier man. "Gerroff me, you idiot!" 

"Don't you want this? Nothing here we haven't done before." But he stopped.

"Fucking idiot!"

"I can stop here, Goldilocks, and leave it here, and end this all now. We never see each other again."

"Fucking bastard!"

"And then you'd never have that safe place again, now would you?" He eased back and flipped Doyle over, but maintained his control. "Just tell me what you want, and I'll wrap it up as a pressie. Put a nice bow on it, put it in your stocking.

"Tell me what you want."

Doyle realised he had grown hard, was poking the other man in the stomach with his cock.

"To see you in hell," he snarled at the stranger; then his mouth opened to welcome the kiss.


	9. Day Seven: Tuesday 23 May 1978

"They say clothes make the man, but in this case, it's very much the opposite. You do look quite good like that, Ray." Ann stood behind Doyle, smiling over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror. The shop attendant stood at a discrete distance, just out of hearing range.

Doyle frowned into the mirror. "Hate this getup. Look like a penguin. The tie is about to choke me."

"But it does look good on you. Here, let me adjust the tie." Ann's long red fingernails reached out to loosen the knot a bit. "And it'll only be for a few hours. We'll go to the wedding, have a nice lunch, offer our congratulations, then it will end. Over before you know it."

"So they're getting married after all this time." Shaking his head, Doyle could guess Ann's attitude towards the issue, but couldn't quite keep the disbelieving tone out of his voice.

"And high time, too," she replied. "They've been together more than five years; this is just making their relationship official."

Yes, he did hear the answering impatience in her voice, but couldn't keep himself from going on. "Maybe if it's lasted that long, they should think about _not_ getting married. Different couples have different reasons for being together."

"Really? They should stay together, maybe have a child out of wedlock, break their parents' hearts? That seems a touch selfish, Ray."

"But they have to do it for themselves, don't they? And not just to make the family happy - if they do that, they're condemning themselves and any children to a life of hell, no?"

"You don't think that about us, though, do you?" He felt her arms closing about his waist as her water-blue eyes and gentle smile met him in the glass. "It's okay to make the family happy while you make yourself happy. People have been doing this for centuries, and not for no reason.

"Ray - what _do_ you think about all this? About us? I know it's early yet, but what do you see happening a few years down the road? Not tomorrow, not next week, but four, five years from now?"

"Dunno. Too early yet. Why do we have to rush things?" Although the itch spidering across his skin might not have been due to rushing things.

"But that's what dating and relationships usually lead to. You find someone, you fall in love, when you're ready you take that next step and get married and have children. You reach a goal that has always been set before you as a child: you become an adult. And if people didn't do that, mankind would die out pretty quickly, don't you think?"

Maybe it was her matter-of-fact tone; maybe it was her certainty about the whole thing, but Doyle couldn't just drop the subject. He'd been ill at ease for the past several days, anyway. And he knew he shouldn't pursue it, that it wasn't the right way to handle whatever he was feeling right now; but he continued on, unable to stop himself. He unwrapped her arms and pushed them away, fixing her mirrored image with a stare. "Marriage. A ring and a promise. Is that what marriage is to you, some sort of holy sacrament? Do you really think it's more than a convenient arrangement set up to maintain order, peace, and the royal succession...?

"It's a lie, a bloody lie. Either it's done to keep up with everyone else in society, or for some misguided sense of 'love,' that will last just long enough to welcome the mortgage and the first kid. And then you're left with nothing but years and years and years of duty, and dirty nappies, and bad family holidays, and tolerating things for appearances' sake, and what-ifs, and why didn't I, and whatever happened to dreams. It's a lie, Ann, a lie.

"Why can't it just be straightforward? None of the lies, none of the baggage, none of the fake promises. Just one on one, soul to soul. That - that's life. Not this social expectations nonsense.

"Think about it, Ann. Why do we have to pretend with each other? I don't know if I can pretend. I don't _want_ to pretend. I don't want to wake up one day, turn to the person lying next to me, and wonder who the hell they are and how the hell I got there.

"I'm sorry, Ann; but you did ask. That's what I think of it." He turned and left the shop before she could respond.

##

Outside the door stood the bedraggled man, looking like a well-dressed drowned rat. Bodie was pleased enough to see him, in fact had been wondering where he'd got to. After all, it'd been six days since he'd last been around.

"Well, in with you, before they locate the third source of the Nile at my door."

The wet man moved inside the doorway, then stood looking at Bodie.

"You, Soldier Boy, are a bad influence."

"Well, I do try my best. And can you take off the shoes? The Nile doesn't need to spring from this side of the door, either."

"I tried, I really tried."

"Well, apparently not hard enough, because I'm still seeing puddles forming beneath you. Here, at least lift up your leg." Bodie crouched down and started loosening a shoelace.

"Been trying all my life. Wasn't coming back, you know. I'd had enough."

"I see how long your resolve worked for you."

"Decided this was ridiculous, pie in the sky. And I couldn't do it anymore."

"What are you prattling about? Here, shift to the other foot." He'd wrestled one soggy shoe off, and was working on the second.

"Prat is about the size of it. Right royal prat, I am."

"Now you're just not making sense."

"Couldn't stay away, understand? Didn't even start off walking in this direction. Had to come back to this, whatever it is."

"Because you find my magnetic personality irresistible, I'm sure."

"Yes... I'm sure that's exactly what it is. Like a bad rash. Can't get rid of you."

Bodie chose to ignore that. "Well, come in, drowned Ophelia; make yourself at home. We can put out some tea and biccies and have a proper visit."

He eyed the man's sodden garments, then moved to help him out of the suit jacket. "But do something about the clothing." He switched to his best Received Pronunciation. "There is a dress code here, sir; we have standards to maintain at this establishment."

Bodie stopped and stared the man in the eye. "Okay. You're soaked and likely to come down with something. Not in the mood to share those kind of germs, so let's get you out of those and cleaned up." He took the man by the wrist and led him into the bathroom. 

"And then, if you're good, I'll give you an extra-special biccie."

##

Once in the bathroom, Bodie silently blessed the immersion heater and ran the water in the bath as hot as he could make it.

"Feeling better, Goldilocks?"

"Not an invalid, you know." He was still shivering a bit, but seemed a little more animated. "Though a bath's not a bad idea; s'a bit chilly in here."

"It's the clothing. Go ahead and strip down, and get in the water. I'll be back in a minute."

Bodie left the room to gather towels and dry clothing. Even though the other man was thinner and slightly shorter, Bodie was able to find an old track suit for him to wear until his clothes dried off. 

Returning to the bathroom, Bodie found Goldilocks had managed to lower himself into the water where he sat, knees up, forehead against the arms perched on his knees.

"Here, let me get your back." Bodie reached for a flannel and the soap. "Hope you don't mind Boots' Own; s'all I've got."

"S'fine." Faintly whispered from behind the arms.

"Okay, shift forward." The man did so, and Bodie soaped the cloth and began to wipe broad swathes of the muscled back. "Often go for a run in the rain in your finest?"

"Christ, no. More the result of an argument. And not my finest; just getting the last alterations. Suppose it's ruined now."

"I'd say yes, it's not long for this world if it hasn't already left it."

"And that will be another argument. At least it's paid for."

Looking down, Bodie applied a little more pressure to the back. He hadn't really stopped to study the solid contours of the muscles before. He slowed the path of the flannel to better feel the ripples and whorls.

"Not sure what the problem is," the wet man continued, subdued. "Suppose I'd always thought I'd find someone, court 'em, settle down and live life with them."

"Someone to watch over you, take care of you? To love, honor, and cherish?" There was an underlying bite to the question.

"No! Not about that at all. Someone to be equal with, though not identical; someone who understands at least a part of me."

"Well, that's not asking for too much, is it? Except it is. You want someone to play soulmates with. Well, that doesn't exist, now does it? Here, stand up and let's get your legs done."

The man stood in the water and took hold of the window sill over the bath, staring out into the grey day. "No, that's the oddest part. I may have found it - or the possibility."

"You're deluding yourself. Doesn't exist anywhere except Hollywood. You think you have it now, but you'll wake up someday, realise that you've backed yourself into a corner, and there's no getting out."

"Telling you, you're wrong."

"Okay, rinse." Bodie took a jug from the side of the bath and filled it with water. "Telling you I'm right. There's no magical woman out there just waiting for you to show up. That's only in movies and poetry. They call that fiction. In the real world, it's just walls separating everyone from everyone else."

He pulled the other man from the cooling water and pushed a towel at him, which he then took back with a frown and started rubbing. "In order to get that level of knowledge, you'd have to be able to get inside the person, way inside: an expedition backwards up their arse to their core. And know that you were there, and that was truly the only place you needed to be. And that the other person knew it as well."

Bodie rubbed the curls vigorously, then pulled the towel away and confronted the green gaze. "Hobbes said life is poor, nasty, brutish, and short. And for my money, he was right."

"Well, he wasn't right if I was talking about this place, about you - now was he? Berk." the other man brusquely replied.

Bodie looked at him - really looked at him, to see if he was taking the piss out of him. "Right. C'mon." Bodie pulled him naked through the apartment, ignoring the other man's questions and protestations, until they were at the mattress.

There was something boiling up inside of him, that he needed to know and yet couldn't stand knowing.

He shed his clothing in quick order; handing the jar of lubricant to the man, he then lay down on his stomach. "Okay, then, go ahead."

"What?"

"Go ahead and fuck me. Make that expedition. See if you can reach that level of enlightenment."

There were no preliminaries, no kisses and caresses easing into the act; this was too raw, too critical to allow superfluous gestures. He had no idea what the man was thinking; but Bodie felt the fingers first cautiously, then more firmly lubricate him, then slide into him. They felt good - not intrusive, not a violation, more something warm and smooth and quite welcome. But he wanted more, a further step they'd never taken before. "Go ahead, don't take all day. Get on with it."

"Hold your horses, not about to just ram it in there." The other man didn't sound as hesitant as he might've; perhaps he'd moved away from discomfiture and was being drawn into the essence of what they were about to do.

Bodie himself was avoiding the distraction of thinking about it, would not ponder what this might mean for the future - and soon enough he didn't need to, as he felt the blunt head moving into position, and hoped he was truly as ready as he wanted to be for this. _Deep breath, deep breath. Been a while, but must be possible to still enjoy the act for itself, no strings attached._

"Goldilocks?"

"Hunh?" More a grunt than a response, as the man started pushing forward, hands on the mattress to either side of Bodie's hips as if still avoiding direct touches as much as possible.

"Gonna nail you to a wall."

"Really?" Breathless.

"Gonna make you squirm and scream."

"Count - _unh_ ," he'd fully seated himself, "counting on that, are you?" 

"Gonna stuff you full of spoiled cream, and nails, and stale bread."

"Sounds," he was starting a rhythm now, "lovely. Can't wait."

"And then, ah! Right there." The man had scraped against Bodie's prostate. " _Right_ there. And then, I'm going to fuck you through the floor."

"Like I am now?" It was moving into a pounding. 

"And fuck you to kingdom come."

"Pro-mi-ses."

"And you will love every minute of it - " and his cock moved just so, and Bodie tumbled off the cliff into bliss. He was barely aware of his surroundings, but could imagine the man's face as he'd seen it in the past, at the critical moment. "Go ahead; you, too," he whispered, and it seemed as though the man must be following him, that he could feel him release and slowly relax against his back.

Bodie slowly returned to consciousness, his head starting to sort itself out, the man motionless beside him. He felt glorious, and tempted to believe something like this could be permanent.


	10. Interlude #2

Bodie really hated going into the cemetery, and yet here he was again. The weather had blossomed into a sunny spring day as well, as though to mock him. 

_Fucking Catherine and her fucking optimism. Well, that certainly worked well for her in the end, didn't it?_

On the working-class side of the cemetery, the pathways and headstones were well-maintained and orderly. On this side, where social notables reposed in eternal slumber, the paths and monuments were mossy with semi-neglect, some areas looking closer to a tangled growth of forest than a cemetery. Bodie had heard as a child that the wealthier section was less neat. He'd found that incredibly funny. Once.

Down the path to the right of the entrance, then a five-minute walk past headstones and graves assembled into a sort of order, Bodie approached his destination. He found it hard to understand how this all helped in the end. In his former business animals and scavengers precluded most Western-style burials; out in the bush the ideal would have been to dig a grave deeply and hide it well, to protect it from discovery and desecration.

_Like we did with Catherine._

The dead wouldn't know the difference. And in the end, it all turned into dust, anyway.

But here the dear departed marched in mossy procession, towards a resurrection they'd been promised long and often while alive.

And once again he came to a stop before the imposing cenotaph, ordered by a distraught family crushed by the loss of a daughter they'd never taken the time to know. It was a monument to a woman who had little use for ornate displays, and a waste when her body would never be here. He could understand that the family might find some solace in setting up a place to prove she'd been alive, had existed; but somehow, he couldn't understand _why_.

"Fucking idiot family. No idea of who she'd been. She'd've had no time for this nonsense." Bodie traced fingers across the inscription on the stone face. "Probably would've come and toppled the stone in the middle of the night."

_Why didn't you listen to me, Catherine?_

The cemetery was fairly quiet, although it was a Sunday. Bodie had supposed Sundays were visiting days for cemeteries; a bit of long-buried knowledge suggested itself to him. He wasn't sure if it were really true, but the spring weather and the apparent calm of the place - calm that didn't really touch him - would suggest a perfect opportunity.

_Why didn't you believe me? Go home, get away while you could?_

All the hope of future, eternal salvation didn't seem worth the effort; at the end of the day, everyone died. Didn't matter if they were the leader of a nation, or some punter in a dead-end job just trying to keep things going. 

Or a woman bringing her Western notions of aid and fairness, bent on making a difference to a few natives in the middle of nowhere. Who should have stayed home or gone back home and had a traditional, boring, _safe_ life.

"Why, Catherine? Why the fuck did you have to be so stubborn?"

It took a minute for him to realise that he'd said that aloud, let the words out to wrap themselves around the cold granite object, that had no real relationship to the person it was meant to commemorate.

Whom, he suddenly realised, he'd kept at a distance, had never really known or understood anyway.

Bodie crouched down in front of the obelisk, and did the one thing he'd never done before - not when he'd known her, not when she'd been killed, not when the world had stopped making sense, had stopped following the rule of the jungle and he'd come home.

Bodie cried.

##

Bodie had to go, had to get away and leave before someone saw him, someone stopped to pick at the scab his life had become. If he just had a little time to himself, he was sure he could once again push back everything and return to his familiar comfort zone, away from the brightness of the sun. The sun might not seem as blinding as it usually did, but he was waiting for the old jumble of sounds and sights to assault and overwhelm him at any second.

Instead, he just barely heard a muffled discussion coming up one of the paths in his direction. 

"Come on, we just duck in here, in one of the old mausoleums, you get anything you want. Blow job to the whole nine yards. Make you feel so good, you won't even remember where we are."

"Son, you must be dreamin'. Why'd I even listen to you? Bad enough I'm risking my job and family for this, but now you're talkin' 'bout necrophilia."

 _God, now the rent boys are setting up shop in the cemetery. Best to leave._ Bodie began to saunter down the path, intent on sliding past the intruders and moving to the entrance.

"Oh, sailor, I'm a lot of things, but far from dead. Give me the five minutes, and I'll prove it to you."

The conversation paused briefly, for just the length of an extended kiss. "Okay, a quickie couldn't hurt. Let's get out of the open, then - oh, fuck."  
They'd spotted Bodie.

"Oy, mister, what you lookin' at?" The kid - for he was not much more than a kid - was coming out swinging, taking no prisoners.

"Public place, isn't it? And let's see: even ignoring the solicitation and public lewdness, are you old enough to be out here?"

"What you talkin' about? It's just me and me friend, out for a walk." Behind him, gaping, the much older punter looked about to bolt. 

_Gotta admit, the kid's got balls. Have to, to be soliciting in a cemetery._ "And I'm your uncle. Wasn't born yesterday. What are you doing picking up in a cemetery?"

"Oh, fuck - he _knows_. That's it, I'm leaving." The pick up turned and took off down the path.

"Earnin' my next meal. Or that _was_ the aim of the exercise. Although thanks to you, now I'm not."

The boy had the same attitude he'd come across with some of the girls, when the soldiers would come to town of a Saturday night. Not much they could call their own, but they'd fight you to keep every scrap of it. "Kid, get yourself together. Don't care how you got there, you got alternatives - get yourself out."

"And who are you? You from Social Services, going to take me in and support me? Oh, fuck you, mate. Easy enough for you to say what I _should_ be doing, but no one around to do anything about it, is there? It's just me, and it's going to stay just me." The kid took off further up the path in disgust.

 _And the fucker who was going to pay him is walking away, scot free._ Bodie couldn't do much for the kid, but he could do something about that.

He shot off down the path and cut across several rows, mentally judging how far the man could have travelled by that point. His instincts were still good; he caught up with the slower-walking man soon enough, and grabbed his jacket collar, pushing him up against the side of a mausoleum.

"D-don't hurt me! I-I-I have a wife and child!"

"And that's why you're picking up teenaged boys in cemeteries."

"No - it's not like that! I-I mean - my wife, she's been sick since the boy was born, she can't really, well, sleep with me anymore, I was just trying to ease some of the urges. You're a man, you know how it is -"

Bodie let go of him, let him stand straight and rearrange his jacket. 

"You know how it is," the punter repeated. "Just a bit of fun, some nameless, anonymous sex to ease the urges, pass the time."

He never saw Bodie's fist coming, never knew anything before it had connected and he was on the ground.

"God, don't hurt me!" The man was scrabbling to get up.

"If I ever see you near here again, near a kid again - "

"God, you won't, you won't! I promise, I'll stop! Just don't hurt me!" The man, now back on his feet, took off like a shot down the path.

Bodie watched him leave, but didn't follow him. He doubted whether the man would completely stop, and he had the feeling that his home life wouldn't change much; but the next time the man was out and about prowling, he would at least think about how well picking up strangers - children - for anonymous sex had worked for him. If, by chance, the man truly were new to pickups, there might not be a second one. _So much for nameless, anonymous sex to ease the urges._

Plus he would have a hell of a time explaining the bruise on his jaw, much less using it to eat the next few days. 

At that thought, Bodie grinned.


	11. Day Eight: Tuesday 30 May 1978

Doyle felt lighter in his step than he had in a very long time.

He and the soldier had reached a new place, had created something real without society's interference. No dictates, no expectations involved; and they were able to get to that point and recognize it without words or empty promises or even names. He doubted most couples ever came close. They had built something together; a something which laughed in the face of real life but didn't touch it. 

Real life would label it as wrong, no question. Didn't need to think twice about the reaction at the Met. Well, at least he wasn't very close to marrying Ann, so – he could sort that out later, figure out how to square things with her. But... what he and the soldier were doing was _right_. Somehow the crazy bastard with his crazy idea had made everything fit together, seem whole; had filled the empty pit inside. 

Doyle came to the door and started knocking. The movement made the door gape open; it was unlocked.

 _Hunh. Left the door open. Maybe he heard me coming down the hall._ Doyle stepped inside. 

"Hello? Soldier Boy? Where're you hidin'?"

Silence echoed back to answer him.

"Not funny, baby-killer."

He moved into the back room, with the single mattress. The floor was bare, except for a lone pillow forgotten to the side.

The blinds were up, softly clacking in the afternoon breeze.

"What the fuck? No..."

He ran through the apartment, checking each room for the man with the blue eyes, some sign that this was a mistake and there was an easy explanation for it.

"No."

He jerked open the door of a back room, one they'd never bothered with while he'd been around. Nothing had been touched there; the dust was still thick on old furnishings that had been piled in haphazardly.

"NO!"

A small lamp with a pink shade was the first to shatter against the wall. A wicker footstool followed it; then a light wooden headboard which emerged from under a dust cover. 

The few items, though ruined, caused little damage to the walls themselves. Perhaps Doyle's actions came more from frustration than a wish to truly destroy. Whatever they were meant to do, however, they weren't successful.

But it was no use anyway. The stranger was gone, and the apartment was vacant. 

Doyle stood in the room, panting, alone.

[ ](http://i.imgbox.com/abjTLWao.jpg)

##

"The man in number five upstairs - he's moved on, then?"

"I suppose. They don't tell me much, I'm just maintenance." The thick-set man snorted. "If he's not there, he's gone, then."

"Left no name, no forwarding address?"

"Told you: I'm the last to know. The mice find out before me." Then "Sir - sir!" as Doyle ran down the hall and out the door.

##

Doyle wasn't sure where he was going; he just had to leave there - number 223, and the small world inside.

Anger flooded his cells, rushed through his body, threatened to drown him. He had felt so comfortably real in there, cocooned by the false safety of anonymity. Stupid him, he should have learnt by now that he would never find a place for himself, where he could relax and _be_ himself. Not as a child; not in the life he had striven to carefully construct; not even in the anonymous sanctuary that another, supposedly like-minded, had chosen to build up. It had been the first time he'd felt able to not hide, to not conceal, and it had been a lie. Of course, like everything else: _trust someone and get your face smashed in_.

 _Well, won't let that happen again._ He knew that the task of stuffing all the emotions back into their dark corner would be a significant challenge. He would, though, he would. He had no other choice.

He had felt whole. But it had never been real.

And now Ann, and his job, and the real world were waiting for him, as they had been all along.


	12. Closeness and Distances: Wednesday 31 May 1978

"So - this is it." 

Doyle pushed the door open and gestured Ann inside. "Needs a bit of work, but there's plenty of room. Area's got solid buildings, plus some character; could be up and coming in a few years. But it has light, and space, and you can barely hear the high street out front. Feels like somewhere you can be comfortable, be yourself."

It sounded weak even as he said it to Ann. _Nothing here any more. Feels completely different now - like any other place._

"I'm not sure, Ray." Ann's voice sounded more than sure; she just had to show Doyle as well. "It's not a problem to pay a little more to get a lot more than this. While there's space," she looked around at the 'space' disdainfully, "it will need a lot of work. And is the area really safe? Is walking from the Tube after working late hours really a good idea?"

 _Has she ever even been in this area before?_ "Five minutes' walk, and the bus stop's even closer. And I can walk you home until you're more comfortable with the area."

"Which might be never, from the looks of it. Ray, we both know we're ready to take the next step and live together; and I know you made the effort to find this place. And I'm sure there are good people here. But I'm not sure _we_ would fit in. We wouldn't have much in common with the neighbours, and I would worry every second once we had children, and I'm not sure the people at work would _understand_ why we lived here..."

And Doyle realised that Ann had her life, and her ideas, and her priorities, and that this would never be a world which she could understand or live in. Despite her best intentions, she'd never see the Caribbean grocer's shop, or the annual street festival, or the richness of life passing by from the top deck of the bus. All she would ever see was what the place _wasn't_.

He wasn't really sure what he'd thought he'd accomplish by bringing her here.

He suddenly felt very tired.

"Okay - was worth a try, but there's no reason we have to take it. Why don't you go ahead back to work, and I'll close up here, return the key. I'll see you later, then."

"Thanks, Ray." She kissed him on the cheek. "And I do appreciate you trying. Have to get back, though. Bye."

"Bye, Ann." She walked off. _So long._

##

 _Waste of time. Waste of time to even care._

After leaving number 223, Doyle had wandered off in no set direction. It was already well into evening, rush hour traffic tapering off, but Doyle had nothing to do and no wish to just return home. Ann had a deadline to work on and there was no one he wanted to talk to right now anyway. He needed to forget the whole episode, put it behind him, forget that the apartment even existed. It would be easier than pursuing this useless path.

So absorbed was he that Doyle missed the footsteps coming up behind him, and didn't know he'd been followed until a hand reached out to stop him. He turned, expecting maybe Jax or McCabe from the squad, someone he knew and normally wouldn't see here, and was already slipping his mask into place.

"Goldilocks. _Finally._ God, you move fast when you put your mind to it."

"What? - you. You. You're gone. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I followed you. S'part of my background, following people. You don't make it all that easy, mind."

"S'over. We're outside, the room's cleaned out. By you. S'over," he repeated. Doyle glanced around to see who might overhear, but only a red Ford Granada streaking across a billboard was close enough to catch their discussion.

"God, it's actually _nice_ out here. Haven't felt this at ease outside in years. Never thought I'd love the feel of the air again. What are you talking about?"

"S'over. It doesn't work outside the room."

"Of course it does. One chapter is over. We start again out here."

"You're daft. You're dafter than you were when you came up with the idea." But Doyle didn't move the hand clamped to his shoulder.

"No, I'm not. We're just moving into a new phase. We're now going to learn about each other." The soldier glanced around; a woman pushing a pram was coming their way. "Look, we can't talk here, and we've got lots to say to each other. Come with me?"

Battles were lost and won across Doyle's face; and then he said, "Okay. God help me - okay."

##

"So let me introduce myself." Bodie slammed two glasses of good malt whisky on the small table, then sat down. The man opposite still looked dubious, but this was a new beginning - auspicious enough for good alcohol. Things would be fine; he _would_ fix this.

Behind them, respectable couples gyrated to the latest Top Twenty hits. The music was loud and fast - a perfect cover for their discussion, though difficult to speak over.

"William Andrew Philip Bodie. Go by just Bodie. Age of 29, grew up in Liverpool, left home at 14. Was no place for me." The words were rushing out of Bodie's mouth, as if they'd waited years to be spoken. To be _needed_ to be spoken.

"Looked older than I was, so signed up on an outbound tanker. Jumped ship in Dakkar soon after. Ended up as a hired gun in Africa. Did a bit of this 'n that in various places. There was a girl - no, a woman. Aid worker. There to do good, in the midst of a lot of evil. A teammate claimed her as his. Didn't bother to tell her first. Didn't end well."

He downed the remainder of the whisky in his glass as though it were water and signalled for more.

"Didn't end well at all."

The man remained silent, observing, letting him continue.

"Left that behind. Just got back to the home country. Was figuring out what to do next. Went to ground to sort through things. Met you - quite by accident.

"Want to tell you more, tell you everything. We can spend time later filling in details. But that's me in brief. We'll have all the time in the world for the long version."

"Well... knew you were a soldier, at least." The man sounded stunned, unsure of what to say. He quickly swallowed his drink, perhaps to cover his confusion.

"Mercenary. Not exactly a soldier, sunshine; that would involve complete loyalty to a single country. Mercenaries follow the money." A waiter appeared with two more glasses of whisky; the conversation paused until he had moved away with his change. 

"Want to - want to know about you. A calming influence, you are."

"So," the other man said, the words slowly, thoughtfully tumbling from his mouth, just slightly slurred from the whisky and the subject, "is this about saving that woman you couldn't be with? You want to take care of me, protect me from the big, bad world?"

"What?" Bodie was confused at first; and then, "No, no,... not that - I want to cover your back, but - you cover mine as well. No, I don't want you to be a woman. Is this your first - are you new to - you've never been with a man before, Goldilocks?" But he was neutral about it, careful not to give the other man the wrong impression and a reason to leave.

"When I saw you in the apartment, that first time - knew there was something about you. Could tell that right away. But I couldn't stand the thought of losing you without finding out what, had to do something. 

"Feeling like that now. Not making you into someone or something you aren't. Too much about you I want to know about."

"But you don't know anything about me, beyond being a fuck. Your rules, sunshine - remember?"

"That's a bit harsh, innit? Mind, you're a _great_ fuck," Bodie grinned briefly, "but there's more than that to you. So help me out and fill in the blanks."

His companion picked up the glass and swirled the liquid around, sloshing it a bit; then slammed it back. "Let's dance."

"And shock these upright tossers with our fine footwork? My pleasure." Bodie got to his feet, and swept his arm out, gesturing the other man onto the dance floor.

The space was crowded with Bright Young Things, in the latest clothes and the trendiest haircuts, moving to the newest steps. All in line with what was to be found in youth magazines and available in high street shops, with what was officially recognised in polite society.

They started off parodying the smooth disco steps swirling around them. Bodie remembered something he'd seen in an old movie and ended by dipping, then dropping his partner to the floor.

"Oy! Careful with the goods, here!" echoed up in a drunken slur. 

"Oh, I wouldn't do _anything_ to damage that perfect arse," Bodie replied silkily; then, grabbing his partner's hand and wrist securely, slid him along the floor as the couples around them began to stop and stare. 

"Lemme up." The curly-haired man stumbled to his feet as the music changed to a driving beat. They leaned on each other as they caught their breaths; then the shorter man started bouncing in place to the beat. "Pogo, mate," he gasped as the curls sprang around his head. "Pogo."

Bodie, feeling up to the task, launched himself as well. Neither noticed that the other couples around them had stopped; the only sound now was from the sound system, and the only movement, theirs. The coloured lights continued to flash hollowly.

And soon enough, three burly men cut their way through the crowd.

"Here, then, what's this? Who let you lot in here?"

"We came in same as everyone else, we've bought libashuns, ossifer, just enjoying the fine music with a friend, here," Bodie grinned at the apparent lead bouncer. He wasn't sure about his companion, who stood to the side with an uneasy grin; but he knew how to hold his drink, and he knew he could take this lot on if he had to.

"This is a respectable club. We don't allow any of your type in here."

"My type? Sorry, darlin'; him over there, he's my type. I'm taken."

"Right, that's it, you're leaving. The both of you."

"No need to rush, is there? Song's not done yet."

"NOW." 

Bodie jerked his head at his partner, who he noticed was no longer laughing but was grimly watching the exchange. The man straightened out his jacket and followed Bodie, sandwiched between two of the heavies.

They were escorted to a side door, where they were unceremoniously thrown out into an alley. "And you're on the list now. Be sure to keep your poncy selves away from here." The door slammed shut.

Bodie slowly rose to his feet, then offered a hand to his partner. "Think he likes me, you know. Maybe he'll ask for my number if I play it right."

"Soldier Boy..."

"Bodie. Told you, Bodie. Bee-oh-dee. But you look a little the worse for wear, my friend. Here, let me help you with that." Bodie pulled the wavering man flush against himself and kissed him, harshly, possessively.

This time, though, was different. 

This time, the other man grabbed Bodie's wrists and prised them from around his hips. Bodie was surprised but didn't resist as the man forced him against the wall, and started fumbling with his flies.

He continued to do nothing as the man touched him, unchecked, then pushed his trousers and flies down and reached for his cock. He brought his eyes up to meet Bodie's, to look deeply into them.

"This - this is what we're about. This is what we're headed for. This is you and me, damn the world; everything at stake is on the table."

His hand started to move, to caress. Bodie began to feel tendrils of lust curling around his loins, teasing, wrapping themselves together. 

"The world, the outside, it's separate." He started to pant, although Bodie had made no further move to touch him. Bodie wanted to roll his eyes up in his head at the sweet pressure, wanted to reach out and hold the other body; but he recognized that Goldilocks was coming to a realisation that was beyond anything Bodie could do for him.

They were both becoming short of breath.

The man now had Bodie firmly in hand, and was quickly bringing him to climax. "Separate," he repeated. "Don't - not -" his voice was almost breaking.

"What... sunshine, whatever you do, don't stop..."

"Not going to work."

"It's working very - ah! - well, I'd say..."

"No, it's over, it's over," the hand kept up an almost savage rhythm.

"I'd say... it's not done yet," Bodie punctuated his speech with a deep kiss.

"We're over, idiot," was the reply, just as Bodie voiced the groan that had been building inside and started spattering over the hand gripping him.  
"This doesn't work outside the room, there's too much real world out here. Too much to lose."

When he could, Bodie grabbed the man and kissed him deeply. "We're **not** over, _berk_ ," Bodie bounced back. "Like the song says, we've only just begun." He started licking the fingers of the christened hand.

"No, no, no, no, NO!" The hand was grabbed back and the man stumbled off down the alley.

##

"Oh, no you don't, Kenny Dalglish." Bodie moved to follow, but stopped short. "Damn it, my trousers -" which were still open and down around his thighs. "Come back here, you!" He finally got his clothing adjusted and took off after the man.

Their run through the streets of nighttime London attracted less notice than Bodie would have expected, if he'd been paying attention; most pedestrians concluded it was some drunken lark that they weren't part of and as such ignored it. Fortunately, no plods were in the vicinity to find it less than amusing and put a halt to it.

However, Bodie wasn't paying attention to pedestrians; he was too absorbed in the feelings and sensations racing through him. The feel of the nighttime breeze, the contact between his feet and the pavement, the endorphins racing through his body as he pursued the other man. And he knew, he _knew_ , that once he caught him, he could convince him this was right, and this was the way they could live, the way they could be together. 

They were meant to be _together_ , against the world.

"Stop running, idiot!" He could still see the other figure, who had widened the gap, though he was confident he wouldn't lose him. "We need to talk! BERRRRRRK!"

##

Safe. Finally safe. 

Doyle had managed to shake off his pursuer and make his cautious way back to his apartment. Tired, half-drunk, on edge and angry, by time he had reached the front door of his flat he wanted nothing more than the blind numbness to be found in a bottle of whisky.

_Just a lunatic whom I once crossed paths with. Not going to think about him again._

The key turned in the lock and he stepped in, pulled the door shut behind him. It stopped short. He jerked it again, turning around - to see it jammed against a dark leather shoe.

"Just want to talk, Goldilocks. Talk is cheap."

_No. Not going to let this happen._

Doyle responded with a fast right hook backed more by surprise than force. It didn't completely dislodge the foot, but stunned the man enough that Doyle could retreat into his apartment and barricade himself inside a room.

The bedroom. The room where Doyle kept his target pistols. Really meant for club practice; but if the man wouldn't stop following him, he could keep him at bay with those. He didn't want to get pulled back into the other man's world, only to be betrayed again. That way madness lay.

Opening the door slowly, he brought a pistol to bear on Bo- no, _the dark-haired stranger_. The man he didn't know. "You're trespassing." The gun was aimed directly at the man's heart. _A bit ironic, that._

[ ](http://i.imgbox.com/adlPp9iO.jpg)

Bodie's tongue slipped out just a touch, and then the grin spread back across his face.

"Wicked right you've got there. And I bet you know how to use that gun. But what's the trouble? Can't stand me knowing who you are in life? That you're bent as a three pound note?"

"Don't move, Soldier Boy. Or this becomes self-defence."

"Self-defence? How is it self-defence against yourself?" Bodie took a step forward, grin still wide across his face.

"Don't move, I told you..."

"Me. Bodie. Name's Bodie - just Bodie. Keep telling you that."

"No. Not getting pulled into your madness, knowing about you."

"Now you sound like me. C'mon, Goldilocks. Just admit it. There's a Bodie in your life." He was slightly closer, didn't seem intimidated by the gun at all.

"It's self-defence if you're about to ruin my life, take away everything."

"I'm already ruined, sunshine, everything's already been taken away. Still here, though, still breathing. Still alive."

"Oh, really? How's that? By fuckin' _my_ life up?"

"First step's the hardest, and there are no guarantees." Bodie, now just in front of the gun, lightly laid his hand around Doyle's holding the weapon. 

"You just have to be true to yourself - not me, not Great-Aunt Prudence, yourself. Just tell me your name, and then we move forward together."

"What do you get from this? What do you want from me?"

"You. Touch me." The torso was flush against the gun; the hand, warm and solid, was fully wrapped around Doyle's, pressing it against the trigger. "I want you to touch me."

And once again, Doyle thought about his respectable job, and his respectable life, and respectable Ann - and whatever it was that had happened and had changed everything. This stranger who was only beginning to know him, yet who already knew him better than anyone else. Yes, life could be poor, nasty, brutish, and short - likely _would_ be, especially if this was the direction he would take; but there was no working this out of his system.

He swung the gun away from the long hands and broad chest, put the safety on, calmly placed it on the nightstand to the side. Reached out and touched - _Bodie_.

Because he could, because he wanted to.

"Doyle," he said. "Name's Raymond Doyle."

[ ](http://i.imgbox.com/adeDe4nF.jpg)

**Author's Note:**

> Legend has it that the 1972 movie _Last Tango In Paris_ started out as the story of a relationship (among other things) between two men. Due to certain constraints (not the least of which likely was the desire to see the film funded and made), it became a story about a relationship between a man and a woman.
> 
> But - what if it went back to the original framework? And thus a story was born.
> 
> Thanks to solosundance and anna060957 for their incomparable beta help; to moonlightmead for being more helpful than I can ever describe; to gvenanne for really nailing through her art the feelings behind what I was trying to say ;D; to beccaabbott for her excellent non-fandom readthrough; and the folks of my flist as always for the encouraging comments and putting up with my complainin'.
> 
> All errors, rough edges and pitfalls are my own. And _The Professionals_ , in the end, is the property of Mark 1 Productions.


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